


Freshly Toiled Feelings

by ravenpuff1956



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Family Feels, Love Confessions, Phryne has some feels, Reunions, post-season 3, struggling with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:27:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23391703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenpuff1956/pseuds/ravenpuff1956
Summary: Phryne has come home, to farewell...to farewell...She can't even say it.Jack would've said it.(Kinda Movie Spoilers- but only if you squint)
Relationships: Hugh Collins/Dorothy "Dot" Williams, Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 28
Kudos: 134





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> This is my first story in the Miss Fisher universe. About time too since I've been a fan since i was about 14. I freaking adore Phryne and Jack and the gang, and I saw the movie and loved it too!  
> So here it is! My first go at writing Phryne!  
> Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> DISCLAIMER!  
> This doesn't really have movie spoilers. However it does take elements of the film and twists them around a bit. So if you don't want to read this because you want it to be a surprise, don't worry you don't have to!

Phryne always planned to come back to Australia. Her family was there. Her job was there. She had to place flowers on Janey's grave on her birthday.

Jack.

Jack _was_ there.

She'd bought the steamer ticket after finally receiving .The incident had been front page news. Phryne thought about flying, but she didn't particularly trust her mental state. Plus she wanted to write something.

It takes a while for the punters to file out. Phryne waits, causally leaning against an old gum tree nearby. Just close enough not to be considered an outsider to the event, but far enough that no one approaches her. She has a flask hidden in her coat pocket. But Phryne wants to save getting drunk for when she gets safety home. And has her trusty Mr Butler to carry her to bed.

Finally, the grave yard empties; a woman with slowly greying hair, blowing into her red checked handkerchief, leaves the black bared gates. Phryne’s alone. It’s just her, the whistling of wind through the treetops and the freshly toiled earth.

She walks up to the plot with trembling legs. She touches the fresh earth with the sole of her patent leather shoe.

Jack lies somewhere under there.

A stream of tears run down her cheeks, and Phryne’s face collapses into her hand. She’s reminded vividly of the day they dug up poor Janey’s forgotten grave. The feeling of hopelessness that eclipsed all other things. The sickening notion of wanting to join her sweet sister into the abyss. Wanting to lie down next to her and let dirt cover them both; leaving her free to linger in the past. Free of the guilt that her baby sister had died instead of her.

It was only Jack that kept her from doing so that day. Phryne can almost feel his hand now; warm, strong, and stable. Her anchor tying her to reality; against the tempting waters threatening to drown her.

The tears are coming thick and fast now, obscuring her vision. Phryne finds her knees kissing the ground, her hands in tight fists resting against the grave.

“Damn you Jack,” She whispers, sounding as weak as she feels. Phryne lets soil trickle through her fingertips. If she dug hard enough would she be able to hold his hand one last time?

“I had written this whole silly speech you know,” Phryne tells him, hiccuping wetly, “About you, and me, and how much I-I care…” Her voice trails off. It’s not a whisper. It could hardly be called a breath. Even now, when he’s dead and buried, she still can’t tell him.

“I’ve always been a coward,” Phryne sobs, punching the ground with hysteric frustration, “Ask me to shoot a gun, scale a building, fight a murderer- sure thing. But affairs of the heart…” She shakes her head in defeat.

She can almost see what Jack would do at this very moment. The slight raise of his eyebrows. The way his jaw would tighten. ' _Miss Fisher_ ,' He’d say, with a heavy sigh. Or if she was lucky, a deep, throaty, ' _Phryne_ ,'

The woman in question lets out an insane burst of laughter. What she wouldn’t give to hear him say her name again.

“You would’ve done it Jack,” Phryne tells him croakily, not even bothering to pose her statement as a question, “You would’ve stood up in front of my friends and family, talked about your feelings, sent me off with some love and respect,” She wipes her sodden cheek with the back of her hand.

“I would’ve liked to hear your eulogy to me Jack,” Phryne tells his grave honestly, “Yours would’ve been better than mine. It’s a lot of blather really, talking round the point, never really getting to it…” Phryne blinks up at the sky. It’s brilliant blue is unblemished by cloud or rain. Nothing like the English sky she left behind. She missed Australia. The land, the people- they don’t beat around the bush.

“If you’re listening Jack, and I truly hope you are,” Phryne takes a deep breath, fortifying herself, “I love you,” It’s as if a great weight has been lifted from her shoulders. Phryne feels like laughing again. The only good man she’s ever wholeheartedly given her heart too, is now buried under the ground. She gently caresses the dirt before dropping a kiss to the grave, ignoring the earth that she snorts up her nose.

“I love you, my darling Jack,” Phryne whispers, “I hope the universe one day finds it fit for us to be together again,” She stays kneeling, long after her legs begin to ache. But her skin is getting uncomfortably hot in the unrelenting sun. Her tear stained face, sticky. Phryne longs for a hot bath, Dot’s gentle words and a stiff drink. Besides; she can always come back tomorrow.

\------------------------------

It takes a while for anyone to answer the phone. Phryne waits patiently. It’s not as if she told anyone she was coming home. She might have to get herself to St Kilda. After all, who says her family is still residing in her house?

“Hello, Miss Fisher’s residence,” A breathless voice finally picks up the receiver, “How can I help you?”

“An escort home would be nice Mr B,” Phryne states bluntly, not nearly awake enough to play the ‘guess who’ game, “As well as a hot meal if you’ve got it,”

“Miss!” Is all of Mr Bulter shocked reply.

“Bert and Cec don’t happen to be around do they?” Phryne asks him hopefully, her fingers twisting round the pay phones curled wire.

“They just dropped in for drop scones,” Mr Bulter agrees, sounding happy, yet tearful. Phryne smiles- she’s missed him too. He lets her hang for a moment, and she can vaguely hear cheers of disbelieving joy. At least the majority of her family is in one peace. Although they’ll be having words later about not paying their respects at Jack’s funeral. She was surprised to see that Hugh wasn't there...

“They’ll be there soon Miss,” Mr Bulter informs her as Phryne rattles off her current address, “If they don’t receive a speeding ticket,”

“You’re a treasure Mr B,” Phryne smiles tiredly, already imaging herself curled up in the back of her friend’s cab, “I’ll see you in a few,” She hangs up the phone and waits for her friend’s familiar vehicle.

Sooner rather than later, the taxi comes speeding round the corner, practically mounting the curb. Phryne laughs; she can hear Bert swearing from her seat.

“I don’t bloody believe it!” Bert swings open the door before the car comes to a screeching stop.

“’Ello, you two,” Phryne greets them with a flimsy wave. She hopes her mascara isn’t too messy. She did her best to clean herself up to meet the troops.

“It’s nice to see you again miss!” Cec blurts out from the drivers seat, looking incredibly overwhelmed.

“Nice to see you too,” Phryne says honestly, lugging her misery worn limbs into their back seat.

“We didn’t think you'd be back this soon," Cec continues as the engine groans into life. 

“Didn’t you?” Phryne presses her burning cheek up against the cool cab window pane. 

“There’s going to be a crowd at home,” Burt informs her,drumming his hands excitedly on the vehicles dashboard, “I believe Mr Bulter’s rounding up everyone,”

“Hmm,” Phryne makes a sound of what she hopes is excitement. In all honestly this might be the first time in her life she's not excited to have a party. All she wants is to sleep. 

_Because it's not going to be everyone. Not quite._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne gets a tremendous surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> Sorry it's taken me tenthousand years. I got so excited about posting, I didn't properly plan the next part or the time to write it!  
> But now that it's finally up, I hope you all enjoy!

Phryne dozes in the back of the taxi. She almost considers telling Cec and Bert to drive until the moon replaces the sun, to somewhere like Sydney or Ballart. Somewhere to make a sweet escape to. The monotonously bumping of the cab is simultaneously relaxing and mind numbing. But…that wouldn’t be fair to her friends. Besides, the pair of diggers would probably want to talk- Phryne’s not at _all_ up for that right now.

Cec and Bert stopped attempting to make conversation with her about ten minutes ago. Phryne can see them exchanging concerned glances in the rear view mirror. She smiles silently to herself. It’s nice to be back in a city where people care about her. London was dreary and her father was worse.

Phryne had just received an invitation from an old friend to go to Jerusalem- an invite she had been itching to take up (anything to get out of her old childhood house full of sad, Janeless memories). But one single day after she bought the plane fuel necessary for the trip, Phryne had an unwelcome visitor. The Melbourne newspaper she had been getting delivered to keep up with her homes news, dictated a horrible raid attended by all of the surrounding city police stations. Various officers had died at the scene, including a particular inspector that had been mentioned by name. Phryne had dropped her toast into her morning coffee with a terrible splash. Suddenly adventuring was the last thing on her mind.

“Alright- we’re here,” Cec announces as the cab skids to a stop.

“That’ll be a pound Miss,” Bert spins around in her seat, smiling cheekily at her.

“Ha, ha,” Phryne says drily, before slipping out of the car. Bert takes her measly luggage. Only one small case, barely large enough to hold a fat cat in.

“Travelling light Miss,” Cec observes, his dark eyebrows narrowing in confusion. Phryne nods.

“It was a sudden decision to return, as you can imagine,” She says, brushing down her simple black skirt. Phryne hasn’t travelled this light since the war. One skirt, a few shirts to match, and a couple of pairs of stockings. She looks less like an Honourable, and more like a house wife trying to save money in the current destructive stock market.

“What are we imagining Miss?” Cec asks her, looking more and more puzzled. Phryne shoots him a hard look. As if he can’t imagine what she is talking about. She knows the entirety of her staff have an excellent idea of how she feels about Jack Robinson.

Phryne stalks up her front garden path. Her red gate is already ajar. As if someone already rushed through it, and in their haste didn’t bother to close it. Otherwise everything looks just as Phryne left it- the roses, the well-cut lawn, her large burgundy front door. If she wanted to fool herself that nothing had changed- that no one was dead- she’d easily have been able to. Phryne hesitates as her slim hand slips round the golden door knob. There’s an excited buzz behind the red lacquer paint- like she’s about to step into a humming hive. Her remaining family will be behind it. Will they be dressed in black much like she is?

“What’s the hold up?” Bert barks from behind her.

“Nothing, nothing,” Phryne murmurs, finally opening the door. The blast of cheers that erupts from her home when she does so, blows Phryne’s cheeks back. A collection of human beings stand in her foyer. The first she sees, is Mac, who’s smiling so hard her cheeks must hurt.

“Isn’t it the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher,” Mac says wetly, her eyes brimming with tears. Phryne rushes forward to embrace her old friend tightly. She feels her lungs constrict as Mac hugs her back, equally vicious in her attempt.

“There’s no need to be so upset old thing,” Phryne says, rather tearful herself, “I was always coming back,”

“One can never know with you,” Mac says, not untruthfully. She leans back giving her a knowing look, and Phryne ducks her head sheepishly. She knows her too well.

“A champagne flute for our guest of honour Mr B!” Mac calls into the parlour. The older man steps so quickly out of the doorway, it’s almost as if he’d flown. Mr Butler beams down at her grandfatherly. Phryne feels her cheeks warm with pleasure- he’d be the best grandfather ever. With the best advice, and magical baking skills.

“Nice to have you back Miss,” Mr Butler bows his head. Phryne smiles up at him gladly, taking a drink gratefully. Do his shoes seem particularly shiny? Did he buff them just for her? Mac too takes a glass. She just manages to save the champagne from spilling all over the person running up to greet her next. Or should Phryne say waddling.

“Miss!” Dot sobs, throwing her arms around her. Phryne does her best to return the hug, but finds it quite hard with the watermelon slotted in their way.

“Dot,” Phryne whispers into a familiar bunch of light chocolate brown curls, “You’ve grown,” Phryne doesn’t think she’s ever said just a stupid sentence. Her companion nods her head, her eyes lit up with happiness. At about eight months pregnant, Dot looks about ready to burst now. Phryne lets her hand be placed on her rounded stomach. She’s never been a fan of new born babes, but she’s sure any child of Dot and Hugh’s is going to be her exception. Something kicks hard against her palm, and Phryne finds herself beaming in wondrous surprise. 

“The doctors say she’s going to be as strong as an ox,” Dot says proudly. Her loving husband places a warm arm around her waist. 

“He,” Hugh butts in, and the pair share an heavy look. Phryne sips her bubbly, choosing to say nothing. Clearly this is a much debated topic, which she does not want to enter.

"As long as the bubs healthy Dottie," Bert buts in pointedly, his glass of champagne almost gone already. Cec nods fervently. 

“How are you Hugh?” Phryne asks the young constable. To her great surprise he's wearing his grey suit, with a nice blue tie, perfectly matching Dots dress. They must have just come back from church. But she did expect at least him to be dressed in black. Even just a respectful armband. Hugh always had great respect for Jack. But not enough to wear any colours of morning? Although...now that Phryne thinks of it. No one else. Except for Mr Butler of course, but he's in his uniform. 

"I'm doing great thank you Miss," Hugh smiles as they all make their way into the parlour, "The new house with Dot, the baby almost here, although things aren't as exciting down at the station with you not popping in every day," Phryne makes an attempt at laughing along with the rest of them. But in reality her insides are twisting. She has to know. She just has to ask- even if it's painful. 

"I did hear about the raid last month," Phryne broaches the subject gingerly, like she's dabbing rubbing alcohol on an open wound, "Was it very awful?"

'Tell me the truth' She wills the young man, 'Even if it's horrible,' Phryne knows if she doesn't get the whole story, she'll forever imagine the worst possible scenario. Jack screaming in pain. Jack alone, and covered in blood. Some sort of sadistic torture on the man she loves. 

"Yes- a lot of good men," Hugh confesses soberly, his expression grave, "None from our city south though thankfully," Dot presses a kiss to her husbands shoulder, and his grip clearly tightens around her waist. Phryne meanwhile is reeling. None from city south? But how is that possible? Jack is dead- isn't he?

"What are you talking about?" Phryne asks, her heart pounding in her chest. 

“Sorry I’m late!” A familiar voice calls out, Phryne freezes, her blood turning icy in her veins. Is someone playing a trick? Did someone pay a mimic to torture her? They must have. How else could she be hearing a ghost? “

Got caught up at the station- Damn Foster,” The apparition continues breathlessly, “Is she here?” Jack Robinson, pink cheeked and gloriously alive rounds he parlour door.

The breath catches in Phryne’s throat.

She blinks once, twice, three times.

‘I must be dreaming,’ Phryne’s brain stutters, ‘Or somethings been put in my champagne,’ Jack looks equally dumbfounded, but in a completely different way. While Phryne feels as though she’s been doused in a bucket of cold water, there’s a smile of awe on his face. Once she would normally yearn to kiss it off his lips, but now she is terrified to do so. What if she touches him and he dissolves under her fingers tips?

“Phryne,” Jack whispers. The use of her full name makes her heart clench, “You came back!” He flashes a rare grin, as he pads quickly towards her. Phryne’s feet however, are stuck to the floor. Jack moves closer and closer. He looks so real. But how can it be possible? She was just kneeling at his grave. She had spoken to him as Dot would speak to god through prayer. Told him she loved him.

Did she really just kiss a stranger’s grave site?

“Are you alright?” Jack reaches out and presses a calming hand on her arm. Absurdly bile rises in Phryne’s throat. She can feel the heat radiating from his skin onto hers. A welcoming warmth she had resigned herself to never feeling again. Jack’s pulse bounds at his wrist. She can feel it, a gentle thrum against her forearm.

It’s true.

He’s alive.

_Alive._

Phryne’s world spins. She barely feels the glass slip through her hands. But she hears the crash, the cool rush of liquid as champagne drenches her toes. Some strange noise escapes from Phryne's lips- it could’ve been a laugh or a sob. She honestly can’t tell. A buzzing noise is ringing in her ears.

A cascade of worried exclamations fills the air. A collection of ‘Phryne’, ‘miss Phryne’ and just plain ‘Miss,’. Mr Butler says something about going to get a broom. Dot urges that she should sits down. Mac suggests she has a drink of something stronger. Phryne's going to need a hell lot more than something stronger. Jack's dark brown eyes blink down at her. There's some new wrinkles in his skin, and his tie is slightly skewed as if he'd done it up a tad too fast. She can see how his chest rises and falls against his white button down shirt. Phryne, in a daze, presses her hand against the hard buttons. Jack's breath stutters at her touch, his gaze dropping to her lips.

“Oh god,” Phryne croaks, before tearing out of the room. She takes her stairs two at a time, ignoring the concerned shouts behind her.

Phryne’s room smells just a tad musty. She locks the door behind her, before jumping on her bed. The sheets are clean, but have lost the smell of her perfume. Phryne buriers herself under the sheets, throwing the doona over her head, trembling.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid!_

Of course Jack wasn’t dead! She would’ve received letters, telegrams. Hugh at the very least would’ve been at his funeral. Mac would’ve greeted her with concern, not a smile. They would’ve all known without question why she came home so fast, without any proper clothes and not in her aeroplane. Phryne bites down on her pillow, barely resisting the urge not to scream. What on earth is she going to tell everybody? I’m so besotted with our dear inspector like legitimately dropped everything to get back to Australia to say a last goodbye?

Was she really so infatuated she forgot her wits? The patch of skin Jack caressed still sizzles with electricity. Phryne groans into her blankets. Yes, it absolutely seems to be that she is.

There’s a light, almost nervous knock at the door.

“Miss,” Her companion says anxiously, “Are you alright? Would you like me to run you a bath?” Dearest Dot, Phryne smiles into her mattress. But she’s already making plans to never leave this room till the next century. Or at least until all her guest go home. Especially one in particular. 

“I’m quite well thanks Dot,” Phryne replies in a purposefully bright voice, “Just suddenly felt a bit peaky, thought I should have a lie down,”

“Tosh,” Mac scoffs “You look like you just looked death in the face,” Phryne lets out a tiny whine at that. 'I did Mac, don't you see I did,' 

“Please,” She almost begs, “I just want some time alone,” Her two friends argue with her, but to no avail. Phryne refuses to budge. She should've played it cool. Gave Jack a hug. A kiss. Flirted at the very least. Instead she bolted from the room like a crazy person. She's not coming down stairs, until she's come up with at least a reasonable excuse, if not a believable one. 

For a blissful five minutes, she's left alone. Then there’s a soft yet insistent knock.

For a second Phryne feels herself behaving like Rosie Sanderson- she knows exactly who it is and her whole body clenches at the sound.

“Phryne,” Jack’s voice is low. Phryne let’s out a short cry and buries her head in her pillows. God, this is humiliating.

“Phryne,” There’s a dull thud she can’t quite depicter, but she imagines it’s his forehead leading against the white wood of her bedroom door, “Please can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong!” Phryne bites out, her voice falsely bright, “I’ve never been better,” There’s a disbelieving silence which she doesn’t try to break. It lasts for so long, that if she didn’t know Jack so well, she’d probably assume he’d left.

“Look Miss Fisher,” Jack says tiredly. Phryne presses her finger nails hard into her palms at the lack of her first name, “If you won’t tell me- at least tell one of us- they’re all sick with worry down there,”

“I am too,” Jack admits, his voice heavy with emotion, “I’ve only seen you look like that a handful of times- and every time it’s frightened me,”

“Frightened you!” An absurd burst of laughter breaks free of Phryne’s throat. She sits up, letting her fresh tears roll down her cheeks and pool in her collarbones.

“I don’t think you should be alone right now,” Jack sounds like he’s on the edge- of what Phryne doesn’t know, “Phryne please let Mrs Collins come in and sit with you- I’m sure she will bring you comfort- whatever you’re going-“

“I thought you were dead,” Phryne says, loud enough that the chandelier on the ceiling jingles as the tiny diamonds clink together. There's a stunned sort of silence.

“What?” Jack stutters. Phryne buries her face in her knees, trying to hide an absurd smile. It’s not often she renders the unflappable Jack Robinson speechless.

“I thought you were dead,” Phryne repeats as if she were reading an trivial fact in a daily newspaper, “Sorry I wasn’t particularly myself when I saw what I thought was a ghost standing in my parlour,”

“Phryne, you cant just- open this door, goddammit,” Phryne slithers petulantly off the bed, and pads over to the door. It swings open to reveal Jack, whose clutching at his hat as if it were his life line. Phryne can’t bring herself to meet his eyes. She focuses instead on the crushed brown fabric between his long fingers. It’s the one she bought for him.

“You bought a late steamer ticket that cost god knows how much,” Jack’s voice is a low grumble and Phryne quivers, “And rushed all the way back to Australia because you thought I was dead?” She nods dumbly, dabbing her damp under eyes. Jack chuckles weakly.

“It’s not funny!” Phryne pushes his chest irately- half out of anger and half to make sure he’s still there, “I…went to your funeral and everything,” She glances up quickly, just in time to see Jack’s mouth fall open in shock.

“My what?” Jack takes a step into her room, and Phryne takes a step backwards, “And what do you mean ‘and everything?” Phryne ignores his questions to opt instead to begin pacing her bedroom floor, her footsteps burning prints in the carpet. Jack watches her bounce back and forth. His normally stoic calming presence, is lost on her. Her confusion rages against her chest, battering Phryne’s ribcage like a base drum. 

“I don’t understand!” She cries, verging on hysterics, “It was written into a Victorian newspaper. I went to your funeral- I saw them lower the coffin into the ground,”

“Do you know how many people in Victoria are probably called Jack Robinson?” Jack says firmly, snapping up her hand and holding it tightly, sliding his fingers between hers. This simple truth is surprisingly not the ticket to calming her racing heart-beat.

“You’re not helping!” Phryne struggles in his grip, too much in a tizzy to stand still, “Do you know how much of an idiot I feel right now?”

“I know Phryne,” “I felt exactly the same,” Her mouth falls open. Her body flops, all adrenaline leaving her. Of course he has. That case, all those months ago now. If this is truly the anguish he went through, no wonder Jack felt he had to take a break from her.

“Jack,” Phryne whispers. She must be about a second away from crying again. Her head feels stuffed, as if she's only just recovering from a cold. 

“C’mere,” Jack urges her softly, opening up his arms. Phryne easily falls into him, her head rested against his chest.

They have never embraced like this. Domestically almost- without any sort of tease or excuse of a murderer after them. Jacks chin rests on her hair. Phryne threads her fingers. With any other man she might have felt trapped, so thoroughly wrapped in his embrace. But with Jack there's only safety. Peace. Phryne sighs, before tilting her head to look up at him. He's almost due for a shave. Jack eyelids flutter shut as she lets her hand press against his cheek. 

“I wrote you a eulogy,” Phryne strokes his prickly skin tenderly, “A goddamn eulogy Jack, do you have any idea what that did to me?” 

“What did it say?” Jack tucks a slither of hair behind her ear. A shiver runs down Phryne's spine. He really does have delicious fingers. 

“Nothing really…” She shrugs absently, “It’s what I said at ‘your grave’ that really matters,”

“What did you say then?" Jack rolls his eyes. Phryne smiles, but she can feel the trepidation in the air. See the uncertainty in his eyes. What is she going to say? Is she going to say anything at all? 

“I said I love you Jack Robinson,” Phryne tells him honestly, a small quirk to her lips. Jack's mouth falls open. She barely has the time to react to the joyous tears in his eyes, before his lips are slanted over her own. Jack kisses like he does everything- purposefully and passionately, and Phryne loves it. She loves it. She loves him. 

"I love you too Phryne Fisher," Jack utters breathlessly, when they finally break apart. Phryne beams, wrapping her arms around his neck before pulling him in for another embrace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to tell me what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to tell me what you think!


End file.
